The point of it all
by planet p
Summary: AU; there's a point to it all, he knows, if he could only just find it. Isn't there?


**The point of it all** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

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He doesn't drink alcohol, doesn't drink coffee, doesn't smoke, but what does it even matter, mean, when someone else does, and he can _feel_ it; he feels it, _so much_.

He's not supposed to be like this – no, he's definitely supposed to be like this; can't argue with angels, can't – but they'd been so, so _careful_ before.

In a good world, a happy world – but the world has never been, and has always been, and will likely never be – he'd go vegetarian, but he has no garden but the garden of humanity, humanity's misdeeds, and if he tried for a garden, it'd not fit, it'd have no place, just as humanity's garden never _really_ fit in him, in his mind; just hurt, still hurting.

He's read _The Saddest Little Valentine_ so many times now it hurts every time he reads it _just_ one more time, every word is like a stab to his head, but that doesn't stop him; sometimes, it seems like his whole life/non-life/someone else's life is like that. But it's Jarod's, not Kyle's, and as much as he can pretend that they are – _were_ – brothers, they're not, not _really_, yet they are. Spirits are not related, except they are, right? All of them, because they're, like, spirits, and the similar same thing is related, right?

Kyle is gone, though, and he wishes he could leave it, leave Kyle alone. He doesn't want to start trouble, make trouble, but he feels so _bad_, and all that his sister feels that he's bad, it's a lie, because he's badder. He's so, so bad! And it's all so bad!

We don't kill, because the children could see, but we can't not, because we're _physical_ beings, underneath, or inside, or inside out, or… but we're not just, but it's _different_, it's never the same, not with another body, another life, it's never the same; the body does matter, doesn't it? And he's done such a bad thing, such a bad thing by Kyle, by Kyle and his body. That was _his_ doing as much as it was Kyle's. He could have _helped_, but he _didn't_.

He doesn't want to have been used _that_ way, without even knowing, but never really used that way, but thinking he was, and he can't _help_ but think it. Not that way, not for _that_. Every life is unique, and he just screwed Kyle's. It doesn't matter that there might be others, because, like he's just thought, damn it, every one _counts_! Can't go back, can't do it again, this one's scrapped!

And it may only be years, who knows to a spirit, but time isn't counted in ages, it's counted in experiences, and all of those wasted experiences, because, now he has to do it again, and he won't remember, so what's the point, what's the effing point? And he was so, so close!

So close to helping himself!

And, yeah, along came Lyle (that's him), and fucked it all up, just like that, like a snap!

Great! Fucking genius! Do you have any brains?

He wants to get over it – _come on_ – but it's too awful, and he deserves this, in his own mind, he deserves this: Don't do it again, be more careful next time, if you ever, ever do something like that again, you'll be so sorry that you were even born; you're such a moron, such a loser; why do you say such things, think such things, and act another way? How can it fucking count, all that you've learnt, it if never _happens_, if it never fucking happens? The worth of good will, of the right intentions – fuck that!

He'd do better as the _lunatic_ his sister thinks he is! Instead of-

The lunatic he thinks he is. Isn't he? Fuck, yes. But worse. Not properly human, couldn't even do _that_ right; are, but aren't. Never do a damn thing right, pollute people's minds, make them bad, make them stupid. What's the fucking point of you? Right! But what's the fucking… point… of… you?

No point, alive, 's'all.

Doesn't need to be a point, does there?

But _really_, there does.

So what's the point of you, crazy boy?

Oh, easy – _eeeasy_ – my crazy girl!

But she hates you.

You've got to admit, she chose well, she chose _so_ well. Hates me. Yes. Not only; if only.

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_Thanks for reading; it's kinda 5:18 A.M., so, oops._


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